


That's Great, It Starts with an Earthquake (Birds and Snakes, an Aeroplane...)

by a_thousand_deaths



Category: Fence (Comics)
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Idiots in Love, M/M, Natural Disasters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23205100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_thousand_deaths/pseuds/a_thousand_deaths
Summary: But if anyone could brush off the end of the world, it was Nicholas Cox.
Relationships: Jesse Coste/Eugene Labao, Nicholas Cox/Seiji Katayama
Comments: 16
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

Nicholas was being an idiot again. 

That in and of itself was nothing new. If Seiji got up in arms every time Nicholas Cox did something _stupid_ , he’d never have a moment’s peace for the rest of his life.

But it wasn’t just that Nicholas was being dumb. He was being dumb and _putting himself in danger_ , going outside to break curfew, the curfew that the Governor had put in place a week or more ago to keep people _safe_ , and what’s worse, he had _tricked_ Seiji in order to do it. 

Seiji paced in front of the gigantic fireplace his father never lit, his phone silent and listless in his hand, staring at the place on the hearth where Nicholas’ disheveled duffle _wasn’t,_ and pulled at his hair until his eyes welled from the pain.

_I never saw it coming._

Nicholas was hardly what one would call manipulative. He was the opposite of that, in fact, he was sincere and honest and _trusting_ in a way that made Seiji’s chest go hot and tight, made his head ache and his blood pressure rise, made him uncommonly vicious to Nicholas in the beginning, the way Seiji always got when someone scared him.

He supposed it was funny to think of Nicholas Cox as frightening, with his quicksilver smile and warm brown eyes, with his singular inability to hold a grudge despite that feisty temper, but Seiji couldn’t conceive of anyone better equipped to slip past his defences, or, far worse, make him long to tear them down, and he winced, sinking into the leather couch. Seiji had had it right in the beginning, he had known from the moment he saw _that smile_ what a mistake it would be to let someone like that close to him, and now he would pay the price. He should never have invited Nicholas home at all, should never have allowed him through the door in the first place, should never have thought, with his usual arrogance, that he could contain the fallout if things went south. 

_I should know better by now._

Yet he quite obviously did not, and now he’d have to deal with the ramifications of his mistake. 

Seiji slumped down into the couch, and when something stabbed him in the ribs he sat up with a cry, digging in the cushions. When he drew out the fork, complete with caked on Cheese Whiz and bean curd from the nacho/jalapeno/bacon monstrosity Nicholas had whipped up two days ago, Seiji gave a noise that was less a scream and more a feral howl of rage, which caused the dog next door to erupt in a new spate of barking.

 _I’ll kill him, as God is my witness. He_ has _to come back, so I can kill him myself, with my own two hands._

It had only taken three days for the house to descend into anarchy, dirty clothes strew about like rice at a wedding and a sink full of crusty dishes leaning like some foul Jenga tower, and Seiji had been fighting a losing battle against the forces of chaos ever since. He’d thought living with Nicholas in the dorms for the past year and a half would have prepared him, but that had been sheer naivete, a false hope soon put to rest. Apparently as the area he occupied expanded, so too did the clutter, precisely proportionate as if according to some arcane and sinister calculus known only to Nicholas. 

Earlier that day Seiji had emerged from sorting through a pile of socks, pocky wrappers, post it notes, and old half empty glasses to the living room, where Nicholas lounged without a care in the world. He had run out of clothes sometime during the first week of the lockdown, and forgotten to wash the few he had (of course) so he had to borrow some from Seiji. For once he wasn’t in all black, and that should have made it less annoying, to have him in Seiji’s neat blue shirt and khaki pants, but seeing Nicholas wearing Seiji’s clothes, just a smidge too big for him, only made Seiji fidget more, flexing his fingers through his own perfectly groomed hair, and he couldn’t sit still, flying around cleaning fanatically while Nicholas watched in amusement. 

It did make sense, Seiji reasoned. It was only a matter of time before Nicholas spilled Chef Boyardee on the hem or snagged a dragging cuff on one of the table legs causing it to give way with a rip. No wonder Seiji was anxious.

Oblivious to his worries as ever, Nicholas had draped himself on the couch, messy and casual and relaxed, bouncing that rubber ball he had found in the closet off the wall of his father’s immaculate dining room until Seiji felt a vein in his head rapidly approaching bursting. “Wanna play Stardew?” he had asked with a grin, sprawled over the back of the leather so that Seiji’s shirt was riding up his stomach, and there was a little trail of dark hair that led under the band of his boxers down to--

“I’ll let you pick our farm name.” Nicholas hit the ball onto the wall besides Seiji, _hard._

“For the last time, _NO,_ ” said Seiji, storming into his room with his headphones so he wouldn’t strangle Nicholas with the light cord of the vintage Tiffany lamp, regretting for the thousandth time that afternoon the insane impulse that had led him to invite Nicholas home with him. He could be here in peace and quiet, and instead-- 

“Suit yourself,” Nicholas had called out behind him, bouncing the ball again with a rhythmic thwack, and Seiji ground his teeth together, slamming the door behind him.

 _How can he be so fucking nonchalant during a global pandemic_?

But if anyone could brush off the end of the world, it was Nicholas Cox. It was his talent, and he was just as skilled at it as Seiji was at fencing. Nicholas could shrug off things that brought most people to their knees with little more than a wink and a smile. His father, who in a just universe would have earned the gold medal for deadbeat of the decade, shunting him to the side and refusing to pay what he owed, so Nicholas had to wait years to train behind his golden boy brother? Sure, _whatever_ , Nicholas would get that scholarship himself, he’d prove he was just as good, and the thing of it was, he had, too, but Robert Coste was _still_ a piece of shit, and Nicholas was _still_ crushed from his rejection at the Winter Division Tournament last year, a half healed scar on his heart he buried deep and refused to share, even with his _supposed_ best friend. 

He had come upon Coach and Nicholas in the locker room, after Coste had screamed at Nicholas to leave Jesse alone in front of the entire Exton team, and Seiji could still remember how his chest felt, packed with stones smooth and cold and heavy as lead, when he saw Nicholas there all curled in a ball like a wounded animal, those laughing brown eyes filled with tears. Seiji had instantly resolved to challenge Coste, _duel_ him and _beat_ him and _skewer_ him alive, but then Coach had knelt down beside Nicholas and said quietly that her own father had left their family when she was ten, and that if he ever needed to talk--

“You _know_ ,” said Nicholas, in a choked, smothered voice, like each word was costing him a breath he could ill afford to lose. “How?”

“I fought with Robert Coste when he was young,” she said. “He’s left handed, true, and that’s distinctive in and of itself, but there’s a way he has of attacking when he takes someone’s sword, an elegant arch of the wrist, that I had never seen anyone else do. Jesse Coste does it, naturally. _And so do you_.”

Seiji had found himself on the floor, sliding down the tile of the wall, before he knew what was happening. Nicholas never talked about his father, but Seiji had pierced it together anyway, when in a fit of absentmindedness Nicholas had left his scholarship application for last year on his desk the day it was due, and needed Seiji to drop it off to the guidance counselor; the only one listed under annual estimated income was his mom, no one else. That and how his smile faded when Harvard talked about his dad, how his eyes dimmed when he met Katashi Katayama at last, and Nicholas had shook his hand and gave Seiji a nod and vanished to their room before Seiji could think to invite him to dinner with them. 

All these things spelled out _monster_ clear as day, and he had also seen the magazine clipping in Nicholas’ drawer, tattered and yellowed, featuring Robert Coste in some stupid interview, and it had been dogeared like Nicholas had read it over and over and-- 

_No. God no. Even Coste wouldn’t-- that would mean that he, that all this time he--_

But Seiji was never good at lying, especially not to himself, and part of him knew, with a bone deep, aching certainty, that Coach was right. 

“I just wanted to talk to Jesse,” Nicholas mumbled, tears dripping down his face. “I wasn’t--I would never-- I--” He sank his face into his arms. “He’s my _brother_. I always wanted a brother.”

Seiji had clamped his hand over his mouth, so that he didn’t let a single sound escape, and to his infinite rage he felt himself crying too, hot and burning down his cheeks, so livid that no words could adequately express his fury.

“Maybe you could talk to Seiji about it,” Coach said.

“ _No_ ,” said Nicholas instantly, and the stones weighing down Seiji’s chest turned to coal, smoldering and eating at him and it throbbed more than the time he’d broken a rib and in his mind’s eye, he saw Nicholas, smiling up at him, inviting him to watch a match and saying:

_“We’re friends, aren’t we?”_

“You don’t trust him?” asked Coach bluntly.

“I’d trust Seiji with _anything_ ,” said Nicholas, and fire burning inside Seiji snuffed out, in the blink of an eye. “But he can’t know. He can’t _ever_ know, he won’t understand, he’ll want me to confront him--”

_Damn right I do!_

“And he’ll think... “ Nicholas buried his face into his hands again. “That I’m pathetic, when I don’t,” he finished, muffled, and started crying again, and Seiji’s fingernails bit into his palms till they bled and he sat there, still as the grave, until Nicholas stopped at last, walking off with Coach’s arm around his shoulder, and why had he thought to kill Coste?

Death was far too good for one such as him.

Seiji had thought long and hard about what appropriate retribution would look like, and he was still weighing various avenues, but the situation was made complicated by Nicholas himself, who couldn’t know that Seiji knew, for one thing, and for another who had to be protected from his vile father at any cost. 

That was the thing about Nicholas, the thing that made Seiji pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, tearing his hair out with worry:

Nicholas was sweet. Too sweet, and too kind, and too apt to believe in people’s better natures, and scientists a good deal cleverer than either of them were saying how this disease would change the way they lived forever, maybe, and Nicholas had snuck out into the night, _alone,_ without Seiji to protect him, and God knew what could be happening to him, right at this very minute.

Pandemic, the kind that happened once every goddamn century? No big deal, according to Nicholas; but that was bullshit, because _everything_ was cancelled: school was cancelled, travel was cancelled, the damn Olympics were cancelled, for fuck’s sake, and he’d teased Seiji and Seiji had sulked in his room and when he’d come back out Nicholas was gone, his knapsack too, he’d deliberately tricked Seiji and snuck out after dark and what if he didn’t come back?

Seiji traced the edge of his hilt, gnawing the inside of his cheek. If Nicholas didn’t show by midnight, Seiji was headed out there, with his untipped epee and an incandescent wrath hazing his vision, more lethal than any virus.

_Reckless, hardheaded dumbass._

He’d come back with a smirk-- he’d better fucking come back-- or else Seiji would come out there and drag him back by that fucking hair of his, and then Seiji would shove him down on the couch and wipe that smile off his face, he’d pin him down so Nicholas couldn’t move and he’d--

Seiji swallowed, taking a deep breath. 

_He’ll be back soon. He_ has _to be. No one else will be foolish enough to put up with his antics but me. And when he does…_

Seiji smiled, and it was not a nice smile.

 _I’ll give him_ everything _he’s got coming to him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they were quarantined.*
> 
> *Am actually quarantined with symptoms at the moment, and this fix it fic was one of the only thing that made me feel better. Just FYI this is HEA, no one dies, no bad things happen, despite Seiji worrying obsessively about them. So you can read without fear. :) 
> 
> And I know you know this, but Nicholas is a (lovable) idiot, and don't do what he did-- don't actually break your quarantine. It's no bueno kids, don't do it.


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


It happened slowly at first. 

The initial rumblings were in late February. Seiji had been checking the news, monitoring the outbreak in China, less because he was anticipating a global pandemic and more so because of his concern about the Olympics. Japan was experienced with this type of thing, his dad reassured him, reminding him of when they hadn’t been able to travel to Kyoto during the swine flu; Seiji had been very small, only six, and he hadn’t really understood what was happening, except that they couldn’t visit Sofu and Soba anymore, which made him sad. The Diet had clamped down, and his grandparents had been fine, but even still, Seiji worried. He had planned his own schedule carefully on the assumption that he'd be peripheral to the Trials after school finished up and able to attend at least the lion's share of the Games, and he didn’t want to chance bringing something back to his father or Dmytrov.

That was back before they had cancelled March Madness, back before the major league sports teams started suspending their seasons, back when people still thought the summer was safe. It had only been a month ago, but already it seemed like a lifetime away.

Kings' Row had tried to remain on top of things, but it was hard when the government seemed bent on handling the crisis in the most inept way humanly possible. When Seiji thought about it too much, it made him want to break things, want to fight and fight until he was dripping with sweat, exhausted, until his form fractured and his wrist failed. Dmytrov had a mother with COPD, and he had flown to the Ukraine to take care of her, and Seiji's father was in Europe still when the travel ban hit. 

Katashi Katayama could have flown back earlier but he had a deal on the line, and his dad had never been one to lose his cool. He had been arrogant, confident he could get back before the airlines suspended all flights, and he had been _wrong_.

So when Kings' Row sent them home for Spring Break, back when everyone said it would all be over in two weeks, Seiji went home to an empty house, unsettled but not upset.

Not yet. 

Interestingly enough, Seiji had become _more_ social at home than he usually was at school. Eugene, ever the enterprising captain, had set up a group chat on Zoom twice a week, and Nicholas kept up a steady stream of texts, no surprise. 

Seiji had been sitting at his desk, going over a match in his bullet journal, when Nicholas texted about his mom. 

Nicholas didn’t really make a habit of talking about his family much, or indeed at all. There was that time he’d come over to Seiji, that gossamer, impossible day he’d smiled that ridiculous smile of his and made them friends so easily, like it was _nothing_ (and Seiji knew better than to picture that smile too much because it led him to other, much more perilous paths of thought). Nicholas had said his mother wasn’t into the whole parenting thing, and left it at that.

And that was the last he’d mentioned of her, until Seiji’s phone chimed and he looked down at the screen, rolling the pen between his fingers and then capping it with a firm twist.

(just found out mom is essential. 🙁 she’s staying with a friend of hers to avoid exposing me.)

_He’s just as alone as I am._

(I’m OK,) Nicholas texted back, as if he could hear Seiji’s thoughts. (It’s just, weird, you know? To go from living at school with you and all the guys, to being all by myself.)

(Come stay with me.) Seiji’s fingers typed that of their own volition, and he stared at it for several minutes, mouth dry and shoulders tense, before he sent it with one decisive tap.

Nicholas didn’t waste any time responding. (We’re supposed to be in isolation, right?)

(My dad isn’t here, so you can’t infect him. Besides, it’s only been two days, and we were living together before. If one of us has it, odds are we both do.) Seiji scowled at his screen. _For him to sudden give a shit about proper hygiene, now of all times…! Meanwhile he’s no doubt still wandering around the grocery store for extra Pocky and frozen pizzas he doesn’t need, breathing in all that--_

Seiji’s mind went into a dark spiral, ended by another ding. (How will I get there?) 

Seiji let out a sigh of relief. (I can pick you up.)

That was that, and if Seiji had second thoughts driving down into the city, it was too little too late. Honestly though, he shouldn’t be surprised at himself, or his unorthodox relationship with the most aggravating boy he’d ever met.

Ever since they had become roommates, Nicholas had been a presence in Seiji's life. At first it had been a small one, a prickle like a thorn in his side, but then, somehow, it had grown and grown, and by sophomore year Seiji had resigned himself to never getting rid of him.

It was strange. He wasn’t the sort of friend Seiji would have chosen for himself; Nicholas Cox was the height of unrefined, _gauche_ in the most egregious way, and he had been from the moment they met. Usually when boys vowed to bring Seiji to his knees, they whispered it behind his back, hissing to one another as they passed, discreet doses of venom, but not Nicholas. 

_He_ refused to go down quietly, making a scene on the piste like a child, shoulders back, chin high, his sharp little nose sticking up in defiance, with no trace of that incandescent smile from earlier, which suited Seiji perfectly well. 

Seiji Katayama hated outgoing, and he hated eager, and he especially hated _nice_ , because he knew from long experience that the promise of friendship behind that radiant smile was nothing but a pleasant fiction. Maybe the owner of those doe eyes wanted some of his notoriety to rub off on him, or maybe they were infatuated with whatever they had imagined lay under his scowl, but they didn't want to know _him_. 

When he sat down with Kings' Row to discuss his options, Coach Williams had talked to him over coffee afterwards, about being more flexible with his outlook now that he was on a team, less apt to stick people in categories, but his paradigm had served him well, and Seiji saw no reason to change. He liked Coach, liked that she treated him like an adult, but in this, she was wrong. 

After all, nobody had ever wanted to be friends with the shy, awkward boy behind the pristine portrait of a perfect prodigy. _Nobody._

But Seiji had forgotten that, in life as in fencing, there was always an exception.

************************

It had only taken them three days in lockdown to have their first fight. Nicholas had been texting furiously back and forth with Eugene while Seiji listened to NPR’s endless take on the Governor’s response. Seiji was adjusting the volume on his headphones when Nicholas tapped him on the shoulder and showed him his screen.

(What would u send someone u like? Do u think flowers are 2 much? 😓 He’s having a really bad day and I’m worried.)

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” said Seiji, scoffing. “Labao’s _wooing_ someone? In the middle of a pandemic?”

“Yes. And it’s _sweet_ ,” said Nicholas stubbornly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Just because you think--”

“Because I _know_ \--”

“That romance is stupid, doesn’t mean everyone agrees with you.”

“They _should,"_ snapped Seiji. “It’s an immense waste of time.”

“So what would _you_ do if you liked someone, Katayama?” asked Nicholas, a strange undercurrent in his voice, leaning far too close to Seiji, in his personal space, like usual. “I’m guessing roses are out of the question.”

Seiji sneered. “Flowers are pointless,” he said. “Excellent example. You give them, and they _die_ , having provided no material benefit to anyone.”

“Not that I’d expect you to understand, but they’re _pretty_ ,” said Nicholas. “And it shows the person that you’re thinking about them.”

Seiji rolled his eyes so hard it felt like they rotated to the back of his skull. " _Pretty_ doesn't help you in the middle of a once in a lifetime disaster, does it?"

"What does, then?" Nicholas said, bristling like it was _him_ Seiji had insulted, and not Gene. "Answer the question. What would _you_ do, Seiji?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Seiji huffed loudly, feeling his pulse thrumming under his too tight skin. "None of that frivolous sentimental nonsense.” _I’m no good at that bullshit, anyway._ “I'd look after him, take care of him, protect him," he said. "I'd make sure nothing could touch him, ever, that anyone even thinking of messing with him would think twice, because hurting him would mean dealing with _me_. He’d never need to be afraid when I was around."

Nicholas was looking at him, with an expression Seiji couldn't begin to deconstruct, and then he abruptly sank onto the couch, picking up the Switch. Somehow his lack of response was more annoying than it should have been.

"No smart ass riposte?" asked Seiji. "Don't hold back on my account."

Nicholas glanced up from his game, and to Seiji's shock, he was _blushing_. "I've always had to fend for myself," he said quietly. "I'm not holding back, I think it's--" he curled his shoulders, cradling the player to his chest like something precious-- "nice, to do that for someone," he finished, and his voice was barely there at all, and Seiji didn't know what to say, so he went back to cleaning up the kitchen, and the next time they spoke was at dinner, and neither of them had mentioned it since.

Seiji would _never_ admit it to a living soul, least of all Nicholas, but there were times he wished he _was_ the kind of person who could do those things, be charming and magnetic and sweep someone off their feet. Most of the times ( _all of the times)_ he wished that were after arguments like those, when Nicholas was fierce and determined, sparking up against Seiji’s sharp edges, and then the atmosphere would shift, tighten like a string around Seiji’s chest as Nicholas grew quiet and flushed and _still,_ and Seiji felt like there was something he should be doing, something he should be saying, to pull that thread of electricity between them tight, reel it in and---

 _And what? Nicholas Cox does not need someone like_ you _to be his boyfriend. If he knew how you felt he’d probably head for the hills, and who could blame him?_

Seiji Katayama was under no illusions that he was any kind of catch, no matter what the Bobby Rodriguezes of the world thought. He was cold, and cutting, and cruel, and _that_ was on a good day. 

On a bad day he’d eat Bobby alive; no one deserved him as a boyfriend, especially not someone like Nicholas.

Their friendship was a gift, unexpected and glorious and precious beyond measure, and Seiji wasn’t greedy. It was just one of those things he'd grown to accept as inevitable, being hopelessly in love with his shaggy, messy, sweet as a triple ice cream sundae best friend.

That was fine. 

But Seiji had never planned on the quarantine, on the problem of being alone with Nicholas, all day and every day, and by the time he realized he had made a mistake inviting him, there was nothing to be done.

*********************************

The first time was an accident. 

Sort of.

It was before they had both realized it was much better for Nicholas to sleep in the same room as Seiji. They had watched a zombie movie, and Nicholas had gone off to the guest room with a joke and a grin, and the next morning Seiji had woken up to find him at the foot of his king sized bed, one ankle dangling off the side, a dresser dragged in front of the door and their swords both out on top of the desk. 

“I told you we shouldn’t watch something like that late at night,” he said, amused, as Nicholas rolled off the bed with a thump. 

“Next time I’ll leave you for the undead,” Nicholas grumbled from the floor.

Seiji considered him thoughtfully, wondering why he had curled up at the bottom of the bed, when there was plenty of room for the both of them, but upon further reflection he realized-- Nicholas was worried he’d offend Seiji. They were best friends, had been since some interminable time in the middle of freshmen year, but compared to his other friends, Nicholas barely touched him, and he had only held Nicholas in his arms the once.

It had been after his dad’s first visit to campus. Katashi Katayama hadn’t visited for the normal reasons, Parent’s Weekend or some such nonsense, as he’d no doubt call it, or to congratulate Seiji on his latest wins-- oh no, that excellence was _expected._

He’d visited for the first and as it turned out, only time that year because Seiji had lost to one of the twins, at a match that counted, and that wasn’t like him, his dad said, serious and solemn behind his glasses. 

“You’ve never given me any trouble,” he told Seiji, pushing the black wire rims up his nose. “Ever since your mom-” he paused, still unable to actually say it, she _died,_ it’s been nine years, when will he -- “You’ve been perfect,” his dad finished, and even though that should have made Seiji glow with pride, the way his dad said it wasn’t proud at all, it was matter of fact, and--and he had used the past tense.

“But lately, I’ve noticed a _change_.”

Seiji shivered, freezing in the same hotel room that he’d been sweating in only hours earlier. Katashi Katayama did not like the unexpected. Ever since mom-- ever since Seiji could remember, change had been a bad word in his house. 

So he braced himself as he turned to his father, every hair on his head in place, and asked: “What kind of change?”

His dad gave a heavy sigh. “I’m disappointed in you, Seiji,” he said.

And things had only gotten worse from there, and Seiji had stumbled into their room, distracted and dazed and feeling like his heart had frozen, and Nicholas had sat straight up in his bed and walked right over and wrapped him in a hug like they did it every day. 

“You’re so cold,” Nicholas had mumbled, squeezing him tighter, and he smelled like sweat and sunshine, and his heat blazed into Seiji, and he had relaxed into Nicholas’ arms before he realized what was happening.

Nicholas had held him for a long time, warm and messy and gentle, and it shouldn’t have helped anything, shouldn’t have been able to touch the ice inside Seiji when he thought about the emptiness in his dad’s eyes, but somehow, it did.

That day sat in Seiji’s memories, trapped in amber, perfect and unchanging, and so it naturally came to his mind when he imagined Nicholas creeping into his bed, trembling and terrified, needing help but afraid to ask and--

“You can just sleep in here, you know,” he said, and Nicholas had squinted up sharply from the floor, his cheeks pink. “Okay,” he said. 

The next night there was no horror movie, only _Spirited Away_ , but in the early morning the generator exploded, plunging the house into darkness, and suddenly Seiji’s arms were full, his nose tickling in that soft hair, Nicholas shaking against him, so scared he couldn’t say anything at all. Seiji had found himself pulling Nicholas closer, clutching him to his chest, rubbing his hand at the base of Nicholas’ spine.

“I’ll call the company,” he said into Nicholas’ hair, scrolling through the General Electric website. “They’ll come out. The power will be on in no time.”

The call was automated, pressing some buttons in response to a robot, over in a matter of a minute. Seiji made it with Nicholas burrowed deep into his chest, pressing into the collar of Seiji’s night shirt so that his face was against the skin at the base of Seiji’s throat.

“Sorry,” Nicholas said, and Seiji could _feel_ the vibration as he said the word. “Thanks for taking care of it.” There was no way he could get any closer to Seiji unless one or both of them took off their clothes, and lay there, nothing between them, and Nicholas had the softest skin, smooth and hot and Seiji shifted, heart rate skyrocketing.

_That’s not happening, and for good reason._

Getting involved with Nicholas would be a disaster. Seiji _knew_ this. He’d already considered it, examined it from every possible angle and-- 

Nicholas sighed heavily, pulling away and Seiji clamped down in response, his arms wrapped around Nicholas even tighter than before, without his conscious awareness. 

Nicholas inhaled sharply, questioningly, but he did not fight it. 

“You’re cold,” Seiji said roughly into his hair, and Nicholas nestled back into him again.

“Yes,” he said, and they lay there like that the rest of the night, twined together, and no one could touch Nicholas without Seiji knowing, and Seiji stroked that soft messy hair and smelled that sweet, sunshine scent and knew he was in trouble. 

*********************

That had been the end of the first week, and Nicholas had slept in Seiji’s bed every night since, and Nicholas used vanilla shampoo and he drooled all over Seiji’s pyjamas without fail and he fit in Seiji’s arms like he _belonged_ there and Seiji prayed the quarantine would end soon, because things couldn’t go on like this, not without something giving, and he didn’t think he could bear losing Nicholas’ friendship, not now, not _ever_. 

The day before Nicholas had tricked him, they had gotten in another argument.

Seiji was in his room _trying_ to study, and Nicholas had come in, bored and wanting company.

“I didn’t know you liked raptors,” he said, running a finger along the edge of the wooden carving Dymtrov had gotten him one year as a Christmas present. He’d find no dust dared settle on her talons. The bookend depicted a Soviet eagle, mid landing on a rock, and she was fierce and angry and glorious, and it had been his favorite present that year. 

“I don’t know if 'like' is the right word,” said Seiji, pinching his lip in between his thumb and forefinger.

Seiji thought about the first time he had seen one, when he was eight at the Zoo, and the red tailed hawk met his stare with its own distant gaze. He had just come off a brutal practice, a series of training bouts that should have been a triumph, as he had done brilliant, amazing even, beating every single one of his classmates, Jesse included. But it had ended just like it seemed they always ended, with Seiji shy and forlorn in the corner while the others huddled together, the only sign they noticed him at all sly, mean looks followed by laughter, and even _Jesse_ had laughed, and Seiji had been _miserable_ , and his dad would never let him try another gym, he had already pleaded with him and only Dmytro’s silent presence had kept him from bursting into tears. 

The hawk perched in the corner of her enclosure, high and removed, and _she_ wouldn’t rustle a single feather if some stupid boy laughed at her. She wouldn’t even _notice_ , and if she did, she’d fix them with her eyes, chill as frozen amber, and flex those long, sharp talons, clicking her smooth, edged beak, and the laughter would wither and die, and right then and there Seiji vowed to become like her. No one would _ever_ think of her as pathetic.

She was alone, because she _chose_ to be.

The next time the comments started, he pictured her, beautiful and deadly, and fixed his own cold gaze on his nearest tormentor, lacerating the boy’s fencing with a precise, pointed criticism that laid bare his inadequacies, paring them away like flesh from bone, and that day Seiji was alone as always in the corner, but there was no more snickering, and when he caught them looking over at him, their eyes dropped as soon as they met his glare. It came natural to him, the stark, remorseless honesty: he had always been too direct, even as a child, and now he had no reason to hold back, and every reason to strike, and he had taken his shyness and his loneliness and all the rest of his useless stupid _feelings_ and hidden them deep inside, and that had worked well for years, until the day he had met Nicholas Cox.

“Well,” his best friend declared, sliding his Galaxy out and scrolling down the screen. “ _I_ _love_ them.” He handed Seiji the phone, and in the picture he was smiling, that gorgeous, incandescent smile that had been on his face the day Seiji had first seen him, and an eagle that appeared roughly half his size rested on his gloved fist, cold eyes and hooked beak, all deadly, cruel grace, and something inside Seiji twisted and trembled, _snared_.

“They’re dangerous,” said Seiji curtly, thrusting the phone back at Nicholas, who slipped it in his pocket with an infuriating shrug. “Only a fool would love something that could tear his face off in the blink of an eye.”

Nicholas leaned against the doorway, brown eyes alight with mischief. “They’re only dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.” He interlaced his fingers, putting them at the nape of his neck, showing off his biceps, same as he had that day at Kings’ Row, when he teased Seiji about his fleche. “The instructor said I was a natural,” he said, checking that Seiji was watching out of the corner of his eye. “She’d never seen her eagle take to someone like he took to me.”

_You arrogant idiot._

“Is that so?” asked Seiji softly, flexing his fingers, and he didn’t miss how Nicholas’ eyes dropped to the movement, or how his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“The gloves protect you,” Nicholas said, words running together as they always did when he got excited. “They’re thick and the talons don’t hurt when you have them on, and the look in his eyes, Seiji--”

“Typical,” said Seiji. “You sit here and romanticize something that--”

“He’s _beautiful_.” Nicholas drew himself up to his full height, still that one inch between them, stiffening his shoulders. “I don’t care what you say. I’m not romanticizing anything. That’s just the truth.”

“He could care less about _you,_ or his trainer, or anyone else,” Seiji said, his voice rising, louder and louder and he had started yelling, for some reason unbeknownst even to himself. “Only you would be dumb enough to sit here and tell me--”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe that I saw him for exactly what he was?” said Nicholas furiously. 

“Why would you love something that could never love you back?” countered Seiji, oddly breathless, and why was his face burning?

Nicholas squared his shoulders, brandishing himself with as much aggression as he flaunted his sword. “Who are you to say what love looks like, Katayama?” he asked. 

“Most people would say love isn’t crushing claws and eyes that look through a person like they were made of glass, Cox.”

“That isn’t _all he is_ ,” said Nicholas, chin up and chest out, defiant to the last. “That’s just _what_ _you_ _see_.”

“Maybe there isn’t anything else there.”

Nicholas was silent for a moment then, the anger giving way to something else behind those big brown eyes, kindness mixed with something Seiji couldn’t (or wouldn’t) identify. “You’re wrong,” he said quietly. “One day, you’ll understand.” 

To that soft sincerity Seiji had no defense, and after a pause Nicholas had walked from the room without another word. 

*****************************************

So it had gone, those first two weeks, and maybe it had gotten a little on edge, a little strange, but who could blame them? The whole world was right there with them, after all.

And then today had come, and Nicholas had gone and set fire to the microwave, which _should_ have been the low point, but then he had gone and left, and Seiji was going to--

And there was a noise at the door.

Seiji stood at the fireplace, motionless as the hawk had been in her cage, and let Nicholas come to him.

“I come in peace,” Nicholas proclaimed, holding a carton in front of him like a benediction. “Bearing gifts! Well, a gift, anyway.” When Seiji said nothing, he pulled at the collar of his shirt, dropping the package on the dining room table with a thud, and Seiji could tell the exact moment the gravity of the situation hit him, because the babbling began in earnest.

“It’s for the microwave, earlier, I feel really bad about--”

“--leaving without telling me?” Seiji interjected smoothly, each word falling from his lips precise as a parry, and Nicholas swallowed, hard.

“I thought… but you _love_ ice cream,” he said, his face almost comically fallen.

“You put yourself on the line for mint chocolate chip?”

“It's not that bad, Seiji.” 

_“You aren't listening-- yes it is._ And I wasn't even there, to at least make sure you were a little bit cautious--”

“You were really worried,” Nicholas said numbly. 

“Of course I was, you idiot!” Seiji cried. “I wasn't there to take care of you, you colossal--”

“You're mad because you couldn't protect me,” said Nicholas, doe eyes huge. “I--” He shut his mouth, and suddenly he was turning red, all up his cheeks and down his neck, hand on the nape of his neck, and what--

“I'm really sorry, Seiji,” he said, and Seiji's head hurt with the tender frankness of it. “I didn't know you felt that way.” 

"Why do you think I invited you in the first place,” Seiji snarled, and Nicholas’ eyes somehow went bigger still.

His throat shifted. “I’m so sorry,” he said again, and Seiji gritted his teeth.

“So now you apologize, and expect me to just wave it away?”

“No, I don’t think that, I just, I don’t know what else to say,” Nicholas mumbled, those pretty eyes of his staring at the floor, face growing redder by the second, and why was he fidgeting so much? Was he favoring his right leg?

“Are you hurt?” Seiji asked, suddenly suspicious. 

“No, I told you, I--”

_Why is he so thickheaded?!_

And just like that, all the anger Seiji had been holding back released, all at once.

“I need to make sure,” he said abruptly. “I need to _see_ you. _All_ of you,” he smiled, showing his teeth. “ _Now.”_

Nicholas hesitated for a bare second, fingers on the hem of the shirt, and when he pulled it up over his head his nipples were hard.

_Freezing again. Couldn’t be bothered to put on a damn jacket, not like there’s a deadly virus spreading like wildfire or anything…_

Seiji glared at Nicholas’ chest as if he held it personally responsible, and he heard rather than saw Nicholas take a deep breath. “Happy?” he asked Seiji hoarsely.

“Hardly,” Seiji said. “Khakis too.” He didn’t look up, confident that his tone would assure Nicholas that he was quite serious, and sure enough Nicholas’ hands moved to his waist, zipping and unbuttoning and Seiji’s tongue wet his lips as Nicholas shoved them down.

His legs were dusted with the same soft, furry hair as his abs, and he was definitely freezing, for they prickled with goosebumps as Seiji stared at them, and then he stepped back and looked up and realized, quite suddenly, that Nicholas Cox was, for all intents and purposes, _naked,_ save for Seiji’s tight blue boxer briefs that left very little to the imagination, bare skinned and shivering and waiting on Seiji’s-- _command--_

And suddenly it wasn’t enough to _see_ it, he needed to _feel_ it, and Seiji was striding forward with the same instinct that he used fencing, the same intuition that led him to a fleche before conscious thought, and he shoved Nicholas on the couch and straddled him in less time than it took to take a breath. “You’re cold,” he said accusingly, and his voice rumbled low in his chest, and Nicholas stared up at him, his cheeks flushing, before he lay back and closed his eyes, taking rapid, shallow breaths.

“Yes,” he said, his hands at Seiji’s waist, resting there as lightly and respectfully as they had when he had taught Seiji to waltz that one time, and Seiji gritted his teeth. Too formal. Too _nice._

 _I need to_ feel _you._

Feel all that skin, touch it and stroke it and make sure it was safe, unmarred, unhurt, touch it with not just his hands, but his whole body, draw them close, and closer still, close enough to heat Nicholas with the fire that had begun eating Seiji from the inside out since the moment he had gone missing... 

“If you had done like I _said_ ,” Seiji informed him icily, “Then you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Nicholas’ eyes flicked open then, and Seiji leaned down, until they were nose to nose, until he could count the flecks of black in Nicholas’ dark brown irises. “Next time,” Nicholas whispered, staring into Seiji’s eyes like he was hypnotized, “I’ll listen. I promise.”

“You don’t understand,” Seiji said, taking Nicholas’ hands from his waist and placing them one on top of the other on the couch above Nicholas’ head, while he blinked, puzzled. “There won’t _be_ a next time. You’ve shown you can’t be trusted.” 

He squeezed Nicholas’ wrists, _hard,_ and Nicholas shifted underneath him, a muffled groan coming from his throat. “I’ll do this every night if I have to,” Seiji growled, and Nicholas shifted again, which only made Seiji squeeze even more. “I’ll make you strip and pin you down by the wrists, and you won’t be going _anywhere._ Is that what you want? _”_ he asked, taunting. 

It was humiliating, he knew. He expected Nicholas to fight him, to argue and--

And Nicholas looked straight up at him, flushed and squirming, and said in a strained voice-- “Yes.”

“It’s not supposed to be something you _like_ ,” Seiji snarled, releasing his hold in disgust in favor of sinking his fingers in that unruly hair, and Nicholas relaxed into Seiji’s grip, tongue tracing his lips. “I’m freezing, Seiji,” he said, his eyes dilated so that they were nearly black.

Seiji nearly screamed with frustration, nails scratching Nicholas’ scalp, and his gaze dropped to Nicholas’ infuriating mouth and he pressed his fingertips against it, and his lips were like velvet, and-- “Shut _up_ ,” Seiji said, “Shut _up,_ ” and he bent his head and pressed his mouth down on Nicholas’ before he could say anything else stupid, but he needn’t have worried, because as soon as he started kissing him, the only noises that came from Nicholas were hitching gasps, breathless and intoxicating. 

When Seiji had a golden retriever as a child, he had always thought it interesting how they were trained to be gentle, bred to cup an egg in their jaws without breaking it, and Nicholas Cox had a soft mouth like that, tender and pliable under Seiji's, and he followed Seiji’s lead effortlessly, supple under his lips; Seiji plunged into Nicholas like quicksand, and it was already over for him before he had even begun to realize the danger he was in. Nicholas sank into the sofa, warm and whimpering and that was good, but as soon as Seiji started checking his skin, fingertips stroking the smooth silk of his abs, making sure he wasn’t cold anymore, Nicholas couldn’t be still, no matter how Seiji nipped at his throat.

 _I need to feel you, I need to feel all of you_ , he meant to say, but somehow all that came out was: “I need all of you,” in a husky, angry rasp, and Nicholas trembled and yanked his boxers down to his ankles and no wonder his last name was Cox, because there he was, all sleek and wet and perfect and--

_Yes._

Seiji tore off his own shirt, and when he covered Nicholas that time, rubbing against him, he kept moving, squirming underneath Seiji, moaning Seiji's name, over and over and over, broken and mindless and Seiji grabbed onto his hips tight, sinking his teeth into Nicholas' shoulder and growling.

"If you ever try that shit again, I'll chain you to this fucking couch," he snarled, and Nicholas shuddered, his bitten to the quick nails scraping against the skin of Seiji's back, stinging like a string of ants down his spine, and it only served to infuriate Seiji more, made him bear down against Nicholas savage and cruel, bringing his hips against him as brutal and unforgiving as his fleche. With every thrust Nicholas eased against the cushions further, his legs spreading, knees lifting, yielding and yielding and it still wasn't enough, not now and _not ever_ , because Seiji could still feel that spark of panic lit in his chest when he had seen Nicholas' bag gone, and so he reined down hell upon Nicholas, taking each whimper as his rightful due, and Nicholas didn't argue. He just gripped Seiji tighter and tighter and then arched off the cushions, hips twitching electric and reflexive, out of control, stuttering out Seiji's name, and he was red faced and he had-- Nicholas had come all over-- 

"You can, uh, you can, on me, if you want," Nicholas mumbled, crimson, glancing to the side under those long eyelashes, and he wanted Seiji to--

"On you," Seiji hissed, clenching his jaw. " _On you._ You can't even say it, can you?" 

Nicholas somehow went even redder, chewing at his lower lip the way he did when he wanted to hide the obvious: how much he wanted it, how bad he wanted to be covered with Sejji's --

Seiji reached into his briefs, and as soon as he touched himself he hissed again, like he was brushing against a hot stove, and he _ached_ , throbbing like he'd been burned, already leaking enough so that he could spread it, slicking his dick up, and Nicholas darted another quick look at him, licking his lips.

"You could tie me up next time," he whispered. “I don’t mind.” And Seiji's fingers clenched like he was in the fight of his life, moving over aching skin and it wasn't enough, it _wasn't_ , because the thought of Nicholas shirtless-- _no_ , naked, furry chest and legs on display-- hands secured nice and snug to his bed, shivering and blushing while Seiji gave him what he deserved, for _daring_ to put himself in danger and Seiji would _show_ him what he had earned, would punish him _again and again_ until he pounded it into that thick skull that-- 

"You're _mine,"_ said Seiji, and his own voice was unrecognizable to him.

Nicholas bared his throat with a ragged sigh. " _Yes,"_ he said, and then warmth was over Seiji's fingers, dripping on Nicholas' chest, marking him, making a disgusting mess and _no one_ would question it now; if they could see how Nicholas looked under him, it would be clear as crystal who he belonged to, and Seiji grunted with a deep, primal satisfaction. 

"Maybe I _will_ tie you up next time," he said, eyes on Nicholas like a hawk, and Nicholas' hips twitched, though he made no move to clean up his chest. "Maybe I'll knot your wrists and ankles, and you won't be able to do _anything_ without my permission."

Nicholas closed his eyes. "Seiji," he said, and trembled. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," Seiji said, in a delicate, vicious tone, and Nicholas raised a shoulder, chewing on his lip again, neck going pink as his cheeks. 

_I'll fuck the stupid clean out of you, until all you think about is me._

That was how their second week in quarantine ended, with Nicholas spent and sweaty on the couch, Seiji draped around him like a lion around its kill, and Seiji didn’t realize until much later the plan’s undeniable, fatal flaw: it would result in him falling even more deeply in love with Nicholas than he already was. 

But even if he had known, it wouldn’t have mattered. 

Once he had kissed Nicholas Cox the first time, it was already far too late.


	3. Chapter 3

Afterwards, after they had come closer together than Seiji had been to anyone ever before, Nicholas lay sprawled underneath him, unusually quiet, blinking up at Seiji with brilliant cheeks like he’d been slapped senseless. His chest was a wreck, slick and wet and if left to his own devices, would no doubt remain that way, so Seiji took a quick shower and then, using his washcloth, did the job himself, running it over those lean abs while brown eyes watched, half lidded and hazy. 

“We should go to bed,” Seiji said, after he had disposed of the rag in the hamper and washed his hands.

“Mmmhmmm,” murmured Nicholas, fingertips tracing the path Seiji had taken with the cloth, making no move whatsoever to get up. _This is worse than when he was drunk after that lacrosse party freshman year._

“Wait, Seiji-- wha--”

“Shut up and hold on,” Seiji said, taking matters once more into his own hands and scooping Nicholas into his arms where he hung, limp and languid. “Mmmmm,” Nicholas breathed again, snuggling his face against Seiji’s shoulder. “You’re so _warm_. When did you get so warm, Seiji?” 

Seiji did not dignify any of this with a response, so it was lucky that Nicholas did not seem to expect one, just curled further into his shoulder while Seiji marched them straight to the bedroom. For once, he was grateful that Nicholas hadn’t made the bed, since it meant that Seiji could lay him down without having to figure out how to untuck the sheets. 

Once they had both gotten under the covers, Nicholas settled under the quilt, his messy head resting on Seiji's chest, his breath growing nice and even as Seiji danced his fingers down his spine, completely content. He wouldn’t be able to wriggle away without Seiji noticing. 

_I have him right where I want him._

And that was exactly where Nicholas stayed, sleepy and soft in his arms all night long, skin to skin, slightly sticky and smelling like sugar cookies and sex and--- 

_Perfect._

******************

Seiji’s sense of serenity didn’t last long. 

He woke the next morning to a disaster. He had just finished peeling a drooling Nicholas off his chest and was on his way to the kitchen when the true magnitude of the situation hit him, all at once. 

Seiji should have known better, considering who he was dealing with, but last night he’d been… _distracted_ , and he had no one to blame but himself.

“How could I have been so stupid,” he muttered, hands on his hips as he surveyed the wreckage. 

“Seiji?” When he turned, Nicholas was behind him, buck naked, hair sticking up every which way, shirt a scrunched ball in front of his crotch.

“I---I--” he stuttered, clutching the v neck over his dick like Seiji hadn’t seen everything there was to see less than twelve hours ago. “I’m, I can get a ride home, no problem, I--”

Before he could spew any more meaningless drivel, Seiji pointed, scowling, at the carnage. 

Long traces of goop oozed everywhere on the cream colored carpet, gone a violent shade of green where the entire container of Breyers had melted into a treacly horror.

Seiji jabbed his finger at the floor again, as if he could scrub the spill away by sheer force of will. “ _That_ ,” he sneered, giving Nicholas his best glare, “is _unacceptable_.”

Nicholas’ nose twitched, and then twitched again, and he gave a strangled yip before collapsing onto the couch in a giggling heap.

“What the fuck!” Seiji roared, tackling him into the sofa cushions, and it was the work of a moment to pin him there, straddling his legs and grabbing his wrists in one hand, mercilessly tickling him with the other. “That stain won’t ever come out, you ass!”

Nicholas giggled even more, squirming under him, and Seiji pressed him into the sofa with a grunt. 

_Never afraid, even when he should be._

Nicholas had begun at a natural disadvantage, already on his back, but as soon as Seiji settled his weight on top he relaxed, like a strung bow released, and though he jerked at the brush of Seiji’s fingers under his ribs, his arms were still. 

“Look on the bright side, Seiji,” he said, with that idiotic grin of his, not even trying to get away. “Now the living room is minty fresh.” 

Seiji crouched over him like a tiger. “It’s interesting to me that you can be so cavalier, when you are entirely at my mercy,” he replied, baring his teeth, and normally such brusque, barefaced aggression would spark off a fight, Nicholas' pure pigheadedness clashing against Seiji’s need for control, that devil may care attitude of his riling Seiji up to a fever pitch.

But far from fierce, Nicholas sank down into the sofa with a sigh, his head tilted back so that his neck was on full display, bearing fresh bruises from last night, and Seiji was suddenly very aware that his best friend was naked, the shirt having dropped on the floor during their struggle, and he dropped Nicholas’ wrists like they had scalded him.

Nicholas, who ordinarily was a pile of nerves if he had to sit still for longer than a moment, lay, flushed and panting, motionless but for the rise and fall of his chest, his wrists crossed obediently above his head, as though strung together with invisible wire. “Maybe you should punish me again,” he whispered.

_Oh fuck._

Seiji swallowed, ignoring how his throat seemed as dry as a desert. “It’s not a punishment if you like it, stupid,” he snapped.

And Nicholas’ chin dipped, his mouth tightened, twisting, his face crumpling like it had when Robert Coste said--

“But I suppose one more time couldn’t hurt,” Seiji added, and those doe eyes rose to his, wide and dark and Seiji traced his hand down lower, and Nicholas arched his back off the sofa, trembling like a rabbit in a snare, but no matter how he thrashed at Seiji’s grip, not once did he move his wrists from above his head.

Seiji savaged him, marking the creamy, delicate skin under his jaw ruthless and thorough, his fingers working Nicholas like they were at practice, and it was over almost as quickly as their first match, Seiji wringing everything from Nicholas and leaving him belly up and broken and--

_Mine._

Some part of Seiji flexed its claws at the sight of Nicholas, pretty and panting and spent underneath him, like last night-- _like it should always be_ \-- and he immediately tamped it down, shoving it back where it belonged. 

_This is a temporary solution, to keep him in one piece and to preserve some small measure of my sanity, and it will last until this wretched pandemic is over, and then everything will go back to how it was before._

While Seiji was busy wrestling his ill-advised sentiments under control, Nicholas had regained a negligible amount of brain function. He crept much too close to Seiji’s face, with his usual total disregard for the concept of personal space. “You like me,” he said, bewildered.

“You’re my best friend. Of course I like you, you moron.”

“No, but Seiji…” Nicholas flushed, giving a shaky laugh and pressing the heel of his hand to his face. “You _like_ me. You want to _kiss_ me.”

“Anyone who saw you smile would want to kiss you,” said Seiji, and Nicholas went an even deeper shade of red.

“I--I don’t--”

“The matter is so obvious, in fact, that it doesn’t bear repeating,” Seiji finished in a low growl, and Nicholas buried his face in Seiji’s neck, arms around his shoulders, and hugged him tight.

“I’m sorry about the ice cream,” he said into Seiji’s pyjamas, whisper soft as the skin underneath Seiji’s palms. “I’ll fix the carpet, I promise.”

His hair tickled Seiji’s chin, and Seiji cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, sliding his hands down Nicholas’ spine, a curious tightness in his chest, and he pried him off, ignoring how that made the tightness worse instead of better.

“Though you need a shower, right this minute-- I _must_ insist.”

Nicholas snickered, giving him one of those sweeter than a sunset smiles, the ones that despite their gentle nature sank into his heart like the sharpest sabre, like Seiji was the one who was naked, and then he went off to wash up.

Seiji stared after him, running his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends and hissing through his teeth, his forehead pinched so much that he could feel the impending migraine, and then retreated to his bedroom to regroup. Things always seemed more dire in his pyjamas. Once he had gotten into his normal clothes, in his gray khakis, in his favorite white button down, he would feel less out of control. It was why every morning he made his bed with military precision, why his shoes fit neatly into his closet in little rows, why rooming with Nicholas Cox had almost led him to homicide on several eminently justifiable occasions.

Impose order on the outside, and what was within would follow suit.

Seiji Katayama lived his life by this quaint philosophy, which had yet to fail him, and as he tugged off his shirt, he took comfort in the regimented lines of pens and papers across his desk, careful as calligraphy, the notebooks stacked according to shape and color, each paired with a particular label according to its function. Naturally _Fencing_ and _French_ were front and center, and Seiji ran his fingers over the spines, making a herculean effort not to heed the wrinkled heap of clothes on the bed, or the pile of towels that had missed the hamper, and above all else he made sure not to picture Nicholas’ smile when he had picked him up and taken him to bed, how that ridiculous laugh had felt against his chest, and by the time he opened his French dictionary he had nearly convinced himself that he had the situation completely in hand, his feelings strung tight to his insides like piano wire, silent and strangled and right where they belonged.

  
  


****************************************

  
  


When Seiji set foot in the living room again, he stopped dead in his tracks for the second time that morning, dropping his glass on the floor with a strangled gasp and sending a wave of water over the poor beleaguered carpet. 

After Nicholas had listened to Seiji (something remarkable in and of itself) and showered, he’d immediately gone straight to his English assignment, delving into his copy of _Great Expectations_ with a devotion that struck Seiji as extremely suspect.

He could hardly complain about Nicholas doing homework, though, not when he’d spent so much time sniping at him for _not_ doing it, so he held his tongue and went off to fold the rest of the laundry and finish working on his own essay. 

When Seiji had written all that he possibly could on the use of jump cuts in _Breathless_ ( _Why_ had he thought ‘French Film’ sounded like an interesting class, again?), he slotted his laptop neatly into its sleeve and slid it into his desk drawer, and when he walked into the living room the glass slipped from his fingers as easily as a strike from his sword.

Luckily the cup rolled as it hit, cracking but not shattering, making its way under to the dining room table, where it came to a halt next to Nicholas’ tidily zipped up duffel. 

Seiji followed its path with wide eyes, and then lifted his gaze, staring around the room, awestruck.

_What in God's name..._

The usual piles of random socks, torn wrappers, notebooks, and various detritus that Nicholas left in his wake, an endless, countless trail of wreckage, had all vanished. 

Moreover, the coffee table had been freshly polished, the mantle dusted, the pillows arranged in their proper place on the couch, and-- Seiji blinked-- the eiderdown throw had actually been folded (haphazardly, but even so) and put on top of the cushions where it belonged. Everything in the living room was immaculate, in fact, save for an ugly splotch on the cream colored carpet, where someone had clearly scrubbed and scrubbed and the bleach had ruined what the ice cream had not, and it was a _disaster_ , and Nicholas sat cross legged on the floor, back against the couch, playing the Switch, and he hadn’t looked up when Seiji entered, though his ears had turned bright red. “Did you hit five pages yet?” he asked, deliberately casual.

Seiji straightened his arm, cuffing one sleeve and then the other, each motion calm and economical, nothing like the erratic beat of his heart.

“As a matter of fact,” he murmured, and he was proud to find his voice steady and cool as ever, “I did.” Seiji sank down on the leather, settling much closer to Nicholas than he would have normally, close enough that his legs bracketed Nicholas’ sides, close enough that he could both hear and feel Nicholas’ chest hitch when he said: “And it looks like you’ve been busy, too, _mon loup_.”

“My hair looks _fine_!” Nicholas cried, and even though he tried to play it cool, fingers dancing over the controller like nothing fazed him, there was a breathless quality to his protests that made Seiji’s ears prick, made his pulse thunder faster still. “You promised you’d stop making fun of it, Seiji--”

“No, I most certainly did not, little wolf.” Seiji bent down, pausing to push an errant shank of brown behind one scarlet ear, and Nicholas’ fingers froze. “ _If_ you made an effort, I told you I’d consider it. But you’ve obviously gone in the opposite direction--”

“ _You_ are the most arrogant person I’ve ever met,” Nicholas said with a grin, shaking his head, and Seiji stroked down one smiling cheek, and that was probably a mistake, but as Nicholas went silent, pressing his face into Seiji’s palm, he could not bring himself to care.

“Come up here and let me fix it,” Seiji said, husky and hoarse, the order coming from somewhere deep in his chest, and Nicholas put down the Switch without another word, crawling up the couch and nestling into Seiji’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world, his back against Seiji’s chest and Seiji could not stop touching him, sinking his fingers into that messy hair while working his other hand underneath the Henley, and Nicholas sprawled across the couch, a sturdy weight on Seiji’s legs, stretching out with a sigh of pure contentment.

“Aren’t you the least bit worried?” Seiji was preoccupied with the silky heat under his hands, with the way Nicholas relaxed into his touch, which was exactly the opposite of how the rest of the planet reacted to being handled by him, and the question was out before he realized he had asked it. He had meant it as a sort of tease, about the terrifying possibility of him taming Nicholas’ hair (as if that were humanly possible), but that wasn’t how his best friend took it. 

Nicholas laughed, loud and long, as though the very thought was ludicrous. “The safest I’ve ever felt,” he said, “is how I feel when I’m with you.”

His shirt was undone, unbuttoned and rumpled, and he was lying on his back with a lazy smile, solid under Seiji’s palms, but all of a sudden, even though he was right there, it wasn’t nearly close enough, and Seiji sank his teeth into the inside of his cheek as a rush of heat rippled down his body, totally out of his control.

“Like when I hold you down and fuck you?” he asked, his right hand squeezing where it had been skimming down Nicholas’ ribs, and he perhaps should not have put the focus of his thoughts all day in quite such direct terms, as Nicholas’ entire face went crimson.

“Um, right,” he muttered, shifting around, shoulders tensing. “Well, I didn’t specifically mean that, but…”

“But I’m not wrong,” said Seiji vehemently, staring at him with the unblinking ardor of an eagle after game, and his best friend closed his eyes, cheeks so bright that it must smart, but he didn’t move from Seiji’s lap. 

“No,” Nicholas said, and the inch above his hip bones felt like velvet, and when Seiji drew his nails across it Nicholas shuddered and sank back into his embrace and Seiji spent the rest of the afternoon with his hands all over him, cataloguing precisely where he liked to be touched and for how long, and though Nicholas remained a brilliant scarlet, he must not have minded too much, for he scarcely stirred from Seiji’s side, save to burrow into his button down to (unsuccessfully, Seiji might add) muffle the occasional moan.

Sunset found them much as the morning had, twined in tandem, and Seiji was hard put to move from where he had twisted himself around Nicholas, but in the end he reluctantly accepted the fact that dinner would not make itself. As he slowly got up, Nicholas wriggled upright, propping himself up on his elbows to watch him go, his hair dark and thick and in an awful tangle, and he was so darling that it was agonizing to bear witness to for any appreciable length of time, which was why Seiji had spent most of their span on the couch with his eyes closed, focused on the warmth underneath his fingertips.

Seiji sighed, smoothing down his shirt, which had become almost as disheveled as Nicholas’. “Still don’t have enough sense to be scared, do you?” he said lightly, acutely aware of how adamant he had been about the fucking, but hopefully Nicholas hadn’t realized just how much Seiji wanted to--

“I was a little freaked out when I woke up, but you took care of it,” Nicholas said, a dreamy look in his eyes, devastatingly handsome and utterly heedless of it and Seiji stared down at his hands, gritting his teeth. “Like you take care of _everything_ , Seiji.” 

His smile was so blinding, Seiji couldn’t look at it head on, and he was in love with a reckless, feckless sweetheart, and consequently he was also so very very, excruciatingly _fucked_. 

“Now do you understand why I was so angry when you left by yourself,” he said, folding his arms across his chest, not bothering to curb the sharp edge of his tongue, and Nicholas winced. “I can hardly take care of you _if I’m not there.”_

Nicholas rucked up his hair in the back, bright smile fading. “You can’t be with me all the time, Seiji,” he said quietly, and Seiji frowned. Nicholas _would_ pick the absolute worst time to be logical. 

“I suppose that’s so,” Seiji said, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath. “But I can at least ask that you try to think of how I would handle a situation, before rushing in blind and--” he trailed off, tapping a finger against his chin, as Nicholas watched him curiously.

“And…?” he asked. 

“Don’t move,” said Seiji firmly, taking him by the shoulders and pushing him back onto the couch, and he noted with satisfaction that Nicholas made no sound of protest, merely watched him go back into the hall, eyes hooded, hair tousled, cheeks pink.

It took Seiji a while to find it. He hadn’t worn in it ages, after all. Since he’d realized his father’s brow furrowed when he caught a glimpse of it, Seiji had hidden the necklace in a tiny jewelry box at the back of the closet, and so it had waited, the long years since.

Luckily it was gold, so it hadn’t tarnished, and he took it out gently, holding it up against the light.

“Wow, it’s _beautiful_ ,” breathed Nicholas. “What is it?”

“It’s a Saint Christopher’s Medal. It was my-- well, forget that, it’s irrelevant. They’re meant to protect you. I thought you could wear it, and it would remind you of me.” Nicholas’ mouth hung open slightly, and Seiji hastily amended that last statement, before his best friend could get the wrong idea: “Remind you of how much pain you’ll receive _at my hands_ if you don’t stop and think once in a while instead of being an eternal nitwit.”

Nicholas’ jaw was still ajar, and abruptly Seiji’s epiphany struck him as the worst, most foolish kind of sentiment, but it was too late now. The pendant hung from his fingers, spinning slightly, and the light picked out the delicate etching on the back: _Katayama,_ in meticulous, microscopic cursive.

Nicholas’ eyes flicked from the necklace to Seiji and back again. “You want me to wear it?” he asked, saying each word distinctly, as if to make sure there was no possible way he had misunderstood.

Seiji felt his left hand twitch, curling protectively into a fist, and he made a conscious effort to straighten his fingers. “Yes,” he replied, and before Nicholas could say anything else, he leaned forward, draping the medallion over Nicholas’ neck, fastening it with a quick pivot of his fingers and laying it out so that it rested at the hollow of Nicholas’ throat.

“There,” he said. 

The way the necklace lay on his collarbone meant it was constantly twisting, turning from the engraving of St. Christopher and his staff back to Seiji's own name, and anyone who was around Nicholas for any length of time would _see_ it, they'd see it and they'd _know_ , and Seiji felt a prickle of heat spring up at the back of his neck, which he assiduously ignored.

Nicholas stared up at Seiji, skin still flushed from before, his expression impossible for Seiji to read. “I swear I won’t lose it,” he said solemnly, and Seiji snorted.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Nicholas cocked his head. “I can’t lose it if I never take it off,” he said, the hint of a smile on his face, and Seiji realized, to his abject horror, that the stinging sensation on his cheeks was a _blush_ , and that just wasn’t fair at all. Clearly the only thing left to do was take Nicholas’ face in his hands and kiss him, settling them both back into the cool leather, and so that was exactly what Seiji did. Soon enough everything was just as it should be, Nicholas ensconced, tucked away and facing the back of the couch, his spine slotted against Seiji’s chest, and Seiji’s touches were all business now, fierce and fervent and Nicholas wriggled until Seiji’s hand was _there_ , and then he sank back shaking into Seiji’s arms, and Seiji slid his right hand under his boxers and and when he searched for Nicholas’ left, to tangle it in his, he found it clenched over the necklace.

 _Mon loup._ Seiji covered Nicholas’ hand with his own, and when he did Nicholas made a pained whimpering noise and-- how exactly could anyone _not_ fall in love with him, was the real question. 

But Seiji wasn’t good with words, so he worked his mouth on Nicholas’ neck, tongue on his heartbeat, kissing the things he didn’t know how to say, and it was nothing but foolish fantasy to believe Nicholas could know, but in that moment it seemed like he did, and when he spilled over Seiji’s fingers with a choked off moan, Seiji buried his face in that delicate throat and came, rutting against Nicholas like a beast, and Nicholas arched against him, meeting him stroke for stroke, and it was having an afternoon full of fencing, it was his sword singing through the air in their morning practice, it was _glorious_.

And so it went, the rest of the week, worse and worse, Seiji falling deeper and deeper, and no matter how much Seiji straightened his room, he could no longer ignore the towels in the corner of his eye, or the gold around Nicholas’ neck, or how his feelings were no longer content to lie tucked away like usual.

He shouldn't have taken it, the intimacy Nicholas had offered so thoughtlessly, so carelessly, so trustingly, but he wasn't like his pure hearted best friend. Seiji had turned himself into a predator long ago. He had had no choice, and so he had diligently devised his cover, crafting himself to be impenetrable, as vicious and aloof as a falcon on the wing, and then Nicholas Cox waltzed right up to him, to the Seiji Katayama that everyone on the circuit knew was cold and cruel and dangerous, and bared his jugular like the sweet, imprudent idiot he was, and it had only been a matter of time before Seiji swooped down and took what he wanted, sank his talons into tender flesh and the more Nicholas writhed in his grasp, the more he clenched down, and Seiji knew as soon as the deed was done that he’d never be able to come back from it, but it was alright.

It would have happened regardless, he knew it. 

Covid-19 had just hurried it along.


End file.
